#kissing him on the cheek

[wolfythewitch]

Hair growth

[abyssal-ilk]

strife is so pretty in datv omg. hand in marriage strife, mayhaps??

[edgamz]

Pretty princess (35 year old med school dropout)

[mydotguy]

senshi drawings… he’s so handsome under the helmet

[starkiller-009]

there is gonna be a mid analysis of schmidt soon, mostly i wanna talk about erm how i think (how i’d LIKE to think) he becomes who he becomes, how the great war and it’s social-cultural crisises/consequences affects him and how it frames his search in the context or the time period, how his trauma (physical + psychological) changes his course of life and personal fcking everything. bc mostly i think he was an okay fellow before ww1 (meaning - more conventional behavior and presentation, much less of power abuse such as medical and interpersonal, tho of course u could easily headcanon him as power craving abuser from the beginning and stop right there but i just don’t wanna do it cause it’s boring as hell and mentalistic /is it the right term in english? mentalism/sanism?/ in it’s core i guess), u know, yeah, narcissism and masking (maybe predispositions) were there but the scale transformed greatly. also see him as experiencing profound psychophysiological consequences -> after-war depression state/mood problems and things such as fatigue and other. it’s the way i choose to interpret some canon stuff and build upon it further, there are more routs tho (one other option already named, i just don’t want do it)

also rath brothers relationship’s post. yes. here we go (not now . but it awaits)

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[strawberri-draws]

this is "laois should get many cuddles" propaganda

[monkiinart]

this study piece has been sitting in my WIP folder for a year now zzz woe,arne be upon ye

[transvampireboyfriend]

Thinking about Eddie and Steve not needing words to understand each other, or at least not too many.

The way Steve says "Teddy, c'mere" with his hand stretched out and Eddie's already walking over, chin jutted out bc he knows there must be something stuck to his face.

Or how Eddie will say "Angel, you wanna...?" and trail off looking at whatever Steve's carrying. And Steve will hand it over for Eddie to help, murmuring a "thankyou".

How Eddie'll say "Baby" out of the blue and Steve will drop what he's doing to go sit on his lap and happily receive soft kisses to his jaw.

And how Steve will gently scratch Eddie's scalp when he plops down, head on Steve's lap, because he knows that's what Eddie's asking for.

How whenever one of them hooks their chin on the other's shoulders, the other knows to share whatever they're drinking or snacking on.

How when Steve bumps his forehead to the back of Eddie's shoulder wrapping his arms around him, and how when Eddie trails his hand down the back of Steve's thigh holding on to the back of his knee as he's laying behind him, they both know that means "I love you".

And how they both say "I love you, too".

[temeyes]

feeling way too deeply for him again

[time-woods]

formal company event ! yes im pullin out all the romcom tropes for this series

[jellinuy]

taking a nap with suguru. soft blankets and softer words, sweet nothings mumbled into his ear after he’s had a hard day. his silky black hair brushed from his face by your gentle, loving hands, tossed over his shoulder lightly so it doesn’t catch on any of his earrings while he snoozes. “i’m so proud of you” while he rests, his thick lashes closed against his cheeks, and a smile curled into his lips. he covers the expanse of your neck with soft, deliberately-placed kisses, mumbling a “thank you” or a “love you” in between each press of his lips, and you can feel the cold metal of the rings with each warm kiss. his large hands which massage your back whilst his head lays on your chest — he wanted to be held today, be a little selfish with you. the light of the evening sun, setting just outside the window, washing across the two of you, turning suguru’s skin akin to something of melted caramel, and his hair, silken dark chocolate. kissing his forehead and talking about nothing and everything all at once. reassurance. vulnerability. comfort. safety. love. and contentment on his behalf, as he trusted you with everything he was and everything he felt underneath a single fur blanket. watching him fight sleep, yawning over and over again, his nose crinkling and his eyes pricking with tears at the intensity of his tiredness, until the sandman takes hold of him, and with one final kiss to his forehead — so graciously granted by his lover after moving his bangs out of the way— suguru can doze off happy, knowing he will always wake up to you.

[dreamchasernina]

“Katara and Aang’s romance was one sided and the writers forced Katara into a relationship with Aang at the last second! She clearly didn’t have any feelings for him until the last episode!”

Uuummmm....what?

[cheekinpermission]

the answer is always tuna

[cattamouche]

scaramouche has flawless skin. his complexion is unnaturally perfect, with a kind of smoothness to it only found on porcelain dolls. it consistently leaves you wondering how on earth people haven't caught on to the fact that he truly isn't human. he was delicately crafted by the steady hands of a god, it's crystal clear.

his eyes are bright, yet sharp and intimidating. his nose is sloped just right, and his lips are small but plump, with a permanent light rosy tint to them. honestly, you wish raiden ei had done a quicker and sloppier job, maybe then he wouldn't be turning so many heads on the regular. you think you should offer putting a paper bag over his head one of these days, maybe that would keep the terribly possessive part of you at bay.

and when your jealousy starts to get the better of you on this day, a petty idea strikes you. swiftly, you creep towards your shared bedroom and pick out a light pink lip gloss from your vanity. when its time to bid him goodbye for another one of his missions, assigned by the dendro archon herself, he doesn't suspect anything. in fact, a kiss goodbye from you is expected. if you were to skip it he'd insist, standing still at the doorframe staring right into your eyes with a quizzical look and a hint of disappointment, almost looking like a sad wet cat.

once you've planted a kiss on his pale cheek, you're only graced with the littlest of time to admire your work. it's not too bright to look ridiculous, but it's also not too faint to go unnoticed. a job well done indeed. so when you close the door behind him, you can't help but let a little laugh slip. you'll get a bit of a scolding once he's back, but the mark of your lips on his cheek, the clearest sign that he's taken aimed at anyone that looks his way, is worth it.

and if you admit to your jealousy when he eventually comes home and asks you for the reason of this little stunt, all he'll do is sigh and ask you to refrain from doing it again. and what he chooses to keep secret, locked away within the hollow spot of his non existent heart, is that he finds your possessiveness endearing. that it's ridiculous for you to let such a thing bug you when he would never give anyone else the time of day. certainly not in that way. instead, he chooses to pull you into a loose hug and change the conversation into how you spent the rest of your day.

[atdawn]

MERLIN | 2.09 The Lady of the Lake